Not in Love by Ali Hazelwood

“That’s for sure, since I came here to spend time with you.”

Ah. She’d recognized him, then. And she wasn’t a fan.

Eli didn’t blame her for thinking him a brash, hotheaded jerk, but the last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable. She clearly didn’t want him around, and that had him feeling a small tinge of disappointment. It swelled larger as he looked at her lips one last time, but he shrugged it off.

Too bad, but not that bad. He gave her one last nod, turned around, and—

A hand closed around his wrist.

He looked at her over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” She screwed her eyes shut tight. Then took a deep breath and smiled the faintest smile he’d ever seen, which sent a new, heated wave of interest vibrating through him.

Eli was no aesthete. He had no idea whether this woman was objectively, scientifically beautiful, or whether her face simply came together in a way that seemed to work perfectly for him. Either way, the result was the same.

A big fucking turn-on.

“Eli, right?” she asked.

He nodded. Fully turned to her.

“I’m sorry. I was still in fight-or-flight mode. I’m usually way less defensive about . . .” She gestured vaguely. Her nails were red. Her hands graceful, but trembling. “Being helped. Thank you for what you did.” Her hand dropped from his wrist to curl into her lap, and he followed every inch of that journey, mesmerized.

“You didn’t mention your name,” he said, instead of you’re welcome. On the app, she’d just used one initial: R.

“No, I didn’t.” She didn’t elaborate, and her uncompromising tone was a thrill all by itself.

Rachel? Rose. Ruby turned to watch the entrance, where the man still loitered, giving them resentful glances. When her throat bobbed, Eli offered casually, “I could go scare him off.” His brawling days were over—had been since high school, when his life had been hockey practices and detentions and lots of rage. Still, he knew how to deal with assholes.

“It’s okay.” She shook her head.

“Or call the police.”

Another shake. Then, after a moment of reluctance, she added, “But maybe you could . . .”

“I’ll stay,” he said, and her posture softened in relief. With the way the shithead was acting, Eli had planned to keep an eye on her anyway—which was probably a whole other degree of creepy, but here he was. Making this random girl whose name he didn’t even know his business. He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed on his chest. A large group approached the bar and took a seat next to them, forcing him to shift a little closer to her.

R.

Rebecca.

Rowan.

“I know we’re supposed to . . .” She gestured vaguely upward, and a million things flashed in his brain at the flick of her index finger.

The pragmatic tone of her first message to him: Are you still in the Austin area? Interested in meeting up?

The only casual—no relationships or repeat meetings in her bio.

Her answer to the Kinks? question on the open survey.

The list of what she was not willing to do. Of what she was.

At this point he doubted anything would happen between them tonight, but he was still going to mull over the latter. A lot.

“I don’t want to anymore,” she continued, voice steady. He liked that she didn’t say can’t, but don’t want. The lack of apology in her tone. Her serious, quiet expression.

“You mean, you don’t want to go upstairs and fuck a man you don’t know minutes after a man you do know assaulted you?” He gave her a look of mock surprise, and she nodded thoughtfully.

“That’s a good recap. I bet it’s too late to get a refund on the hotel room, so if you need to make plans with someone else for tonight, feel free.”

He felt the corner of his mouth quirk up. “I’ll survive,” he said dryly.

“As you prefer,” she told him, indifferent. She clearly couldn’t care less whether he took his phone out and booty-called half the city or swore his undying loyalty to her, and Eli bit back a smile. Her head cocked. “Do you do this a lot?” she asked.

“Do what? Fuck?”

“Save damsels in distress.”

“No.”

“Because you don’t encounter many, or because you leave them in distress?” Her voice was soft, and on anyone else’s lips the words would have sounded like flirting. Not hers, though. “Either way, I’m flattered,” she added.

“You should be.” He glanced at the man, who was still outside, glaring. “Do you live alone?”

Her eyebrows rose, and he noticed a faint scar bisecting the right. His index finger tapped once against the counter, itching to trace it. “Are you trying to find out if I’m single?”

“I’m trying to figure out what the chances are that the dipshit will be waiting for you where you live, who could help you if he is, or whether your pet could protect you.”

“Ah.” She didn’t look flustered to have misunderstood him. Fascinating. “I do live alone. And he shouldn’t know where.”

“Shouldn’t?”

“I’m not sure how he tracked me here. I can only imagine that he found out where I lived, wasn’t allowed inside by my doorman, and followed my Uber when it picked me up.” She’d been shaken until a minute earlier, but now she sounded disarmingly utilitarian. Just like in her texts, Eli thought. She’d messaged him with no emojis. No LOL or LMAO. Correctly placed punctuation and proper capitalization. He’d guessed it was a localized quirk, but her demeanor seemed like the embodiment of her writing.